An Acquired Taste
by Sullen Kitty
Summary: Oneshot. Set directly after “In The Wee Small Hours”. Bobby and Alex both think about what it means to be ‘an acquired taste’ and discover that their feelings for each other are perhaps more than platonic.


After the trial, Bobby went straight home

Title: An Acquired Taste

Summary: Oneshot. Set directly after "In The Wee Small Hours". Bobby and Alex both think about what it means to be 'an acquired taste' and discover that their feelings for each other are perhaps more than platonic.

Disclaimer: The usual, I don't own LOCI, blah blah blah.

--

After the trial, Bobby went straight home.

There was no need to think of anything that had passed that day. Especially the letter.

The letter…

Bobby smiled ruefully as he reheated some leftover veal parmesan.

An 'acquired taste' is how he'd put it. He didn't blame Eames one bit for asking for a new partner. God only knows how she'd managed to put up with his habits and tics thus far.

-

After the trial, Alex went straight home.

There was no need to think about anything that had passed that day. Especially the letter.

The letter…

Alex banged her head gently against the door a few times.

Why had she not told Bobby about the letter? She knew, of course, that she was – well, ashamed, to say the least, especially because of what good friends they were now. His methods made him the most effective officer she'd ever worked with. And there was _always_ a method to his madness.

He might call himself an 'acquired taste', but heaven knows she was too. What other partner could have weathered eight years with her?

-

The only thing that worried him, Bobby thought as he chewed, was that he might lose Eames. Not as a partner, per se, but he liked how in sync they were. He didn't want to lose that feeling, that little _click_ he felt every time they were working on a case and they were on the same wavelength.

-

Alex worried that Bobby might be more hurt than he'd let on – that she might lose him after this. Not as a partner, but usually they were so in tune with each other that they could finish each other's sentences. She didn't want to lose the little _click_ she felt every time they looked at each other at a crime scene and she could tell what he was thinking. She called it her "Of Course" feeling. Not only was Bobby's reasoning totally obvious to her at that very moment, but the plans, the plotting, the lengths they took to reach the end – it all made sense. And the perp was immediately identifiable.

She didn't want to lose that.

-

Bobby could picture himself working with Eames until they day they retired, and remaining friends until they died. He could see Eames old, her feathery silvered hair still fanning silkily when they walked, her fine bones remaining elegant under the thinning of her wasted flesh, her carriage and posture never hurt by rheumatism, her figure untouched by age, her hands still beautifully nimble without a hint of arthritic pain. She would seem more noble, somehow, in old age – not that she didn't seem it now, of course, but age would mature her into a person who would seem to be able to understand the deeper things in life, someone to whom a secret told would never be repeated, someone to be cherished beyond imagination.

Someone to cherish…

-

Alex could picture herself working with Bobby until retirement, and staying friends until they died. She could see Bobby old, his curling hair silver at the temples and a darker, more muted grey on the rest of his head, his skin becoming slack but his bones never tiring, his back still ramrod straight, his walk always dignified, his hands and fingers forever large and fine. He would seem more personable, somehow, in old age, rather like a friendly grandfather, one whom doted on children, a huge teddy bear of a man – not that he wasn't a huge teddy bear anyway, but it wasn't nearly as apparent as it would be when he was old.

Grandchildren, huh?

-

Sometimes, when Eames touched him, Bobby could swear there was some underlying, hidden meaning that both of them didn't know about, some secret code that could only become visible if something momentous happened. Her touch soothed him, to be sure, comforted him when he needed to feel better, her soft little voice crooning kind things in his ears whenever he was sad. But he wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about that – grateful, of course. Thankful he had such an understanding partner.

But… there was another feeling, one that he didn't quite know what to do with. A large, warm feeling – it made him feel buoyant. Incredibly happy.

Did it have a name? Was this, he realized slowly, what people with normal lovelives experienced?

Love?

-

On the rare occasions that Bobby had hugged her, Eames could feel herself practically melting into the ground. This was a man whom had found very little to be happy about in his life, and if he was happy enough to hug her then – Christ, it was the best gift anyone could ever hope to be bestowed with. To know that he trusted her, had the keys to her comfort when she was distraught, knew exactly how to cheer her up after a long day of work – these were important things, and Bobby knew all of them.

Bobby had little experience with love, so maybe he didn't know the symptoms. But Alex Eames had felt herself falling for quite some time, and goddammit if she wasn't hitting the ground tonight.


End file.
